Sound kernels baptized on behalf of holy veterans flick my face,
shot by elastic radio waves,
striking my eyes, stinging sights into a pixely Warhol style of
vomiting violent neon signs—
kosher brands and canvased advertisements,
Public Service Announcements:
rows of SPAM cans burping tobacco spit over the sides,
rows of green gun barrels with purple flowers flailing out and into the mud,
rows of Marine wives and children with faces blue and black and yellow and
CRACK. Another sharp kernel. SMACK. Another automated sentence.
Like postcard stamps punched out
one right after another
sending out to all corners of the States
the message of conditioned reverence:
blessed art thou for being Saved by the Military.
For my sister.